A/N: A shorter chapter than usual I'm afraid, but a fairly exciting one :)

Harry stood in the changing rooms, waiting for his heartrate to drop sufficiently so that he could sit down. The other members of the team had not done so of course – Wood immediately went to take a shower, and Fred and George had left in a hurry, talking in hushed, excited whispers. No doubt they were heading to prank someone. Harry was certain they would hear about it that evening, in the common room.

Having already spelled himself clean, Harry paced the changing room. The practice had been significantly more difficult than any of the ones they had had before: Wood had really pushed them this time, and even Harry, who was in quite good shape, knew he would be sore the following day.

"Harry?" A head poked in through the door. It was Katie, looking tired and flushed and… Tearful?

"Yes?" Harry looked at her, wondering what the policy on girls in the boys' changing room was. Not great, probably.

"Do you mind coming outside for a moment?" She glanced around the room, and Harry had a feeling that she too knew she wasn't supposed to be there.

Harry nodded and joined her outside in the crisp air. The first thing he noticed was that she was still wearing her Quidditch robes, and that the girls' changing rooms were very quiet. Angelina and Alicia must have left already.

Harry fingered the wand in his sleeve, his mind jumping to an ambush. Away from the castle, no teachers around, barely any students to witness anything…

"I had a really hard time today at practice, and I… Angelina and Alicia are just so good at it…" Katie trailed off nervously, watching Harry.

Harry forced himself to focus, banishing all thoughts of an ambush from his mind. Looking at Katie, he realized that he must have had a stony look on his face for her to be so hesitant.

"We all had a difficult practice today," Harry said with a shrug, trying for a more pleasant expression. "I thought you were pretty good actually."

Katie shook her head in despair. "I'm not bad, but I need to be much better. Did you see Angelina and Alicia? They're incredible! I have to be able to keep up with them."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "Why don't you ask them to train with you then? I'm sure they could use the extra practice."

"I actually wanted, um," Katie began awkwardly. "I wanted to ask you if you could help me…"

Harry looked at her in surprise, realizing, belatedly, why she had approached him. He liked Katie and would help her gladly, but he didn't have much time, nor much energy, even for his own pursuits.

"It's just that Angelina and Alicia are always so busy," Katie said quickly, seeing the hesitant look on Harry's face. "They always leave right after practice, rushing to their love potions – "

Katie stopped short, blushing. She fell silent.

Harry couldn't help himself. "Love potions?" he asked interestedly. "Those are actually pretty hard to make."

Katie wrinkled her nose, trying and failing to hide her disgust. "Don't tell me you tried to make one before," she said, taking a step back. Her eyes darted around, as though he had cornered her or something.

"No!" Harry said quickly, flustered. "I never made one, I promise. I learned a lot of theory, that's all. The ones I read about seemed really difficult –"

Harry stopped talking when he saw Katie's look of disbelief.

"I've been studying Potions since I was a little kid," Harry tried again. "Potions that distort behavior are an entire branch of potionmaking, and they're immensely difficult. They target the psyche, which makes it hard - nearly impossible to identify which part of the body the potion is meant to stimulate. Potions masters deal with that in different ways, but there's a reason why Amortentia is only taught in the 6th year at Hogwarts, and even then only to exceptional students."

Harry fell silent, waiting. There was a long, awkward pause, as Katie decided whether Harry was indeed a creep. For a moment, it was as though their brief friendship hung in the air between them, its future undecided.

Katie looked at him, and he at her, and finally she shrugged. "Whatever, it doesn't matter." She paused. "I think I still want you to help me practice."

Harry groaned. "I thought you were distracted at least."

"Please?" Katie tried.

It was Harry's turn to decide what the conversation would amount to. He thought about the prospect of helping Katie train. His father wouldn't approve if his grades began to slip; Harry would have to be doubly careful in his schoolwork. It was difficult as it was to learn every spell three times as well as everything else, but in that regard, he had no choice. As for helping Katie, well...

It was daunting to take on another extracurricular, especially one with no obvious benefit to Harry. It would be fun to get to fly more, but he was flying a lot anyways, what with Wood's rigorous training regime.

Katie bit her lip. "Please?" She repeated. She looked sad now, as though she had given up. Harry felt kind of bad.

Was he so busy that he couldn't help a friend out?

He would do it, he decided. He liked Katie.

"I'll help you," he said with a sigh. "But we need to find a time when the Quidditch pitch isn't booked by any of the other teams. Also, if I feel like it's too difficult for me to do this as well as everything else, then we're stopping at once. I'm pretty busy you know."

"Yeah, all those love potions probably take up a lot of your time," Katie joked, looking relieved.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry sat on a small boulder in a clearing in the Forbidden Forest. He was close enough to the edge of it that the way back was clear, and yet far enough in that he wouldn't be spotted. More importantly, the smoke, as well as the flames from his small fire wouldn't be seen.

Sitting atop the modest campfire was a brass cauldron. In it, softly bubbling, was a handy potion he was in desperate need of. His conversation with Katie the day before had reminded him that some potions could be brewed even by amateur potions practitioners, and the one he was making was one of them.

Harry glanced around warily. He took note of the dry leaves, unmoving on the ground. It meant that there was no wind, for which Harry was grateful. It was risky to brew outdoors, for that very reason; the wind could blow any number twigs or leaves into his potion, and the results could be hazardous. He returned his gaze to the potion, which was now transitioning from a sky blue to a deep magenta.

The potion designed to mimic the effects of sleep, and Harry yawned in anticipation. It couldn't replace sleep entirely, but it was a perfectly acceptable supplement for people working long hours, or for someone who could only sleep several hours a night. Unfortunately, it wasn't designed to be used long-term, but those who used it usually did anyway.

His father used it occasionally, chiefly on raids and long shifts. Harry remembered, bothered, the time he had broken the rule and gone into the storage room where the potions were kept.

Harry's father didn't allow him to go anywhere near the potions in the house. It was a little annoying, what with all the theory he was reading, but it wasn't something that bothered him on a daily basis.

One day, however, he went to the storage rooms in search of photographs. They had several framed ones around the house, but there were none in the study, where Harry spent the majority of his time, and none in the dining room or his bedroom. He knew there were more though – Remus had mentioned to him on more than one occasion that there were boxes of pictures in storage, if only they had the time to look through them.

At the time, Harry hadn't realized just how many storage rooms their estate had. He should have gone with Elky at least, but he hadn't thought of that ahead of time. As he wandered the cellar with a growing sense of unease, Harry arrived unwittingly in the area where the potions were kept.

His jaw dropped with amazement. The room was so big that Harry couldn't quite tell where it ended. The shelves were marked by row and by column, and as Harry began walking down B4 - "frequently used" he looked interestedly at the vials and vials of carefully marked potions.

What stood out to him then, and what Harry remembered now, was the enormous quantity of dreamless sleep potions.

It was the first time that Harry had realized that his father might not be the all-powerful entity Harry knew him to be. The fact he was faced with, that his father relied heavily on certain potions, troubled him greatly.

It wasn't an idea Harry was comfortable with, even now. Harry was perfectly content to live according to his father's directives, and for years now Harry was used to measuring his actions against his father's will. Harry's father was the most central figure in his life, and even a shadow of a doubt regarding his father's health worried him.

Harry rubbed his eyes and peered at his potion. Now that he knew much more about potions, what had been a shocking discovery then was far less upsetting. Taking potions regularly, in most households, was just another part of life. Wizards did that all the time; potions are an invaluable resource, and there was no reason not to make use of them. Besides, Harry had had enough odd dreams in his life to wish that he had taken a dreamless sleep potion.

With that incident in mind, Harry wondered what his father would think if he discovered that Harry was taking a potion that he had brewed himself. He would be furious, probably. He had always stressed that amateur potionmaking was only to be done strictly supervised, and Harry was certain he would be livid if he knew that Harry wasn't only brewing unattended, but was also about to consume the potion.

Harry sighed, shifting on the hard rock. His father would only be mad if he found out, he told himself. It was a small comfort.

Dawn was near, and Harry knew he only had so long before Neville noted his absence. Neville had been acting oddly around him recently, as though he wanted to say something and couldn't get the words out. Harry had a feeling that Neville was worried about him, and the annoying part was that Harry understood why. He really was in a shakier state than he had been so far. He didn't say anything to Neville, even though Neville was his closest friend – he was worried Neville would mention it to his parents, and they to his father, and in a moment his father would have him off the Quidditch team and that would be a disaster.

Thankfully, the potion was nearly ready. Harry doused the flames and left the cauldron to cool as he reached for his bag, retrieving the vials he had brought. Unfortunately, he only had one set of vials, so he would have to order more soon, or find another container to hide his potion in.

A few minutes passed, and Harry began filling the vials. He was pleased with the amount he had managed to brew - he wouldn't have to make more for at least two weeks.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Dear Harry,

I'm glad to hear that you are enjoying Quidditch. As I've said before, stay safe. Don't train alone, and don't strain yourself unnecessarily. You'll likely need more sleep as well, to make up for the energy you expend on the Quidditch field. I urge you not to disregard the added fatigue that no doubt plagues you, and head to sleep earlier each night. It's worth it.

I'm sure you are putting your best effort into your classwork. I spoke with a handful of your teachers. Professor Snape seems to have taken a liking to you, which is odd, because he and I never saw eye to eye in the past. He said positive things about you. From what I understand, he is giving you material to read in addition to your classwork, which I trust you are making good use of.

I was disappointed by the report that your Defense teacher had. He had nothing particular to say about you, and I assume that that is because you are fairly average in that class. I expect you to put in more effort in that area, because average is simply unacceptable.

In Transfigurations and Charms, both professors said that while you are typically a top student, your work seems slightly erratic, as though you suddenly grapple with things you've already mastered. That's a worrying report, though they did add that you usually manage whatever the task is for the second time about when others master it.

I'd like your confirmation that that is a reflection of your use of two wands, and not a lack of dedication. It is of utmost importance that you master both wands, and do not forget that I expect you to learn the spells wandlessly as well.

Look out for yourself, and be aware that not everyone is quite as innocent as they may seem. As a good colleague of mine would say, "constant vigilance!".

Dad

Harry's heart sank as he sat at the edge of the forest, reading his father's letter. The letter didn't say explicitly that his father would make him quit Quidditch if he didn't do better in class, but it was there, between the lines.

It was frustrating as well. Harry spent nearly as much time studying as Hermione, and she was insane. He often studied late into the night, rewriting essays several times to be sure that he would get the top grade. It was just his luck, then, that Quirrell would call him average.

Quirrell. What an idiot. It was such a bore of a class as well, considering that they just read from their textbook most of the time. It wasn't like there was anything he could possibly do to get a better report from Quirrell anyway – they didn't even cast any spells in that class! His essays already got perfect scores, and Harry wondered if there was any way he could explain to his father that the class was just a waste of time. Honestly, Harry spent more time fantasizing about ripping Quirrell's turban off than he did learning, and it was stupid, stupid, stupid.

Average. Harry clenched his fists. Quirrell was average. No, scratch that – Quirrell was significantly below average.

Harry stuffed the letter into his pocket and strode farther into the forest. He pulled out his phoenix wand and began casting spells rapid-fire, funneling his growing rage into something that wouldn't hit back. It wasn't like the trees cared anyway.

He was mad. He was mad at Quirrell, the blubbering idiot of a teacher who could barely lead a class and yet had the audacity to call him average. He was mad at himself, for not managing to impress Quirrell and consequently landing himself in a less than satisfactory situation.

Harry's wand flashed in front of him, humming with the thrill of casting so many spells in quick succession. Harry emptied his mind as he arrived at a small clearing, refusing to think about his father. He wasn't mad at his father, he told himself. He couldn't be.

He paced up and down in the small area, realizing as he calmed that he should not be so far into the forest. He looked around, noticing for the first time that the trees were much taller and much closer together, the forest floor covered in roots. It was darker, too - the light of the dull gray sky didn't quite reach the ground, and Harry quickly realized that he had to head back to the castle.

Realizing that he was in a somewhat compromising position leaving the forest with his back to whatever was living there, Harry disillusioned himself before turning to leave. Even so, Harry felt as though there were eyes watching him, and the hairs stood on his neck as he began a brisk walk out of the forest.

As he walked, Harry kept his eyes peeled, hyperaware of his surroundings now. He realized just how foolish he had been to storm into the forest. There were no real paths in among the tall trees, and if Harry wasn't absolutely certain that he was heading in the right direction, he could have easily become lost.

The place had a sinister feel to it as well. It was eerily silent in a way that felt unnatural, the distant caw of ravens the only sound that reached his ears.

Harry tread carefully, avoiding twigs and dry leaves to the best of his ability, trying not to make any noise. As he passed a tree, he saw silvery strands caught in one of the branches.

Harry reached out for them in spite of himself, taking them in his hand.

Unicorn hair.

Harry wrapped them into a small ball, sliding them into his pocket. He didn't want to stay any longer in the forest, but the hairs were invaluable. Not only were they fairly expensive to buy, but they likely belonged to a live unicorn, and such hairs had properties that the hair of a dead unicorn didn't. It was one of the peculiarities of potionmaking, an oddity that there was no explanation for.

Harry walked on. It was odd, he felt, that the walk out of the forest felt significantly longer, but Harry was walking much slower now.

Something silvery caught his eye between the trees on his far left. It was dangerous to go there, Harry knew, lest he lose his way, but he was tempted to find more unicorn hairs.

Harry approached the spot, slowing as he drew nearer. His breath caught in his throat when he saw it.

It was a shallow, silvery pool.

Unicorn blood.

Harry turned and began walking away quickly, more determined than ever to get out of the forest as quickly as possible. He wasn't far from the edge of the forest now; he could see the light between the trees.

It was only when he arrived at the edge of the lake safe and sound that Harry allowed himself to slow down and catch his breath.

The unicorn was either dead or injured, Harry had realized. It was worrying, because unicorns were very unique creatures; they were famously known for being obscenely fast, which made them incredibly difficult to kill. Even a werewolf wouldn't be fast enough to hunt a unicorn, and Harry shivered as he wondered what could have possibly tried to hunt the unicorn in the forest.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

With the school year in full swing, Harry was beginning to feel stressed and shaky. He hadn't had another explosive episode like he had had in the forest, but he found himself with a constant underlying anxiety. He found it difficult to talk to his classmates, and it was even difficult to talk with Neville. Interestingly enough, he found himself spending more and more time with Hermione, since she was disciplined enough not to distract him too much. His potion, thankfully, gave him more energy and allowed him to put the necessary effort into all his duties, but it couldn't give him more time. The evenings he made the most of, but he fell into bed each night exhausted and the rose the next morning bleary eyed and tired.

Harry wanted to skip classes, but the fear of his father finding out meant that he went to every one. He found himself composing essays during Quidditch practice, murmuring spells under his breath while he threw quaffles for Katie, and thinking of dueling tactics during Transfiguration. Only when he studied with Connor did he have to devote his full attention to the matter – Connor was sharp enough to tell when Harry wasn't paying attention fully, and besides, Harry was worried that Connor would notice that he was using a potion to stay awake. Connor was a healer after all, he was bound to have been trained to recognize a potion at work.

Harry was looking forward to the Halloween feast. It was the following night, and he was hoping to brew more potion while everyone was occupied. He didn't strictly need to, but he felt it would be the ideal opportunity. He could even use an empty classroom, he supposed. Perhaps a classroom in the dungeon. All the students and the majority of the staff would be preoccupied, and it was always better to brew indoors than outdoors – you never know when a speck of pollen might blow into your potion and wreck it. It was quite a feat that he had managed to brew the previous potion at all – the number of unpredictable hazards in the forest was frighteningly high, but Harry had been desperate.

Harry had already ordered more vials, and hopefully they would arrive before the feast, otherwise Harry would have to borrow Neville's. He was certain Neville wouldn't mind, but explaining why he needed them would be tricky.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry sat in the library, Hermione reading a book beside him. It was two hours before the feast, and Madam Pince would be closing the library shortly. Harry had already compiled a short list of spells, and he was now reading up on the theory behind them.

It wasn't like him to add to his workload, particularly not when he was so stressed anyway, but he was following the advice that his father had unwittingly given him.

"Constant vigilance," Harry murmured as he closed the book with a snap.

"What?" asked Hermione, looking up. She had dust in her hair from one of the ancient tomes she was flicking through, and she looked distracted.

"Nothing," Harry said, turning a little pink. "I'm going back to the dormitory."

"Already?" Hermione asked, surprised. "I thought I would have to drag you to the feast!"

Harry gave her a weak smile. "Not quite," he said. "See you later."

Hermione watched him with a bemused expression as he returned the book to its shelf, and left hurriedly, rushing back to Gryffindor Tower.

Unsupervised potionmaking wasn't explicitly forbidden, and neither was not attending the Halloween feast, but his father would certainly be opposed to it and he would undoubtedly get in trouble somehow. The spells he had looked up, then, were meant to cover his tracks just enough that if he got caught, at least he wouldn't be in as much trouble.

Worst case scenario, Harry would use the first spell - a vanishing spell - to get rid of the potion, and the second, a spell to shrink his equipment. As for why he was in the dungeons… Well, he would take a shoe box and say that he was trying to catch a rat. It was a terrible excuse and would never work with his father, but hopefully he could play stupid first-year if he got in trouble. It was a far cry from well-prepared, but it was the most he could do in the time he had to make sure he had some kind of back-up plan.

Arriving at Gryffindor Tower, Harry began practicing. He had a little over an hour to master the two spells, and he needn't do it with both wands and whatnot, but he was still stressed.

"What are you doing?" a curious voice asked from behind him.

Harry spun around to see Neville standing in the doorway, looking pink and cheerful.

"Neville!" Harry said, surprised. "I um…"

Neville laughed. "You know, if you were bothered by the tissues on my bedside table you could have just said something."

Harry glanced down and noticed that one of the tissues he had been attempting to vanish was hanging off of his wand. Harry smiled weakly, trying not to show how rattled he was.

Neville looked at him for a moment, then said. "You know, I feel like I haven't spoken to you in a while. Is everything alright?"

Harry again looked up in surprise. "Yeah, I'm alright, just really busy. Why do you ask?"

Neville looked at him, somewhat skeptically. "Well, you're really jumpy. And you just seem stressed – I doubt anyone else would notice, but I can tell something is up."

Harry shrugged, not meeting Neville's eyes.

Neville sighed. "I'm going downstairs to play exploding snap with Ron. You're welcome to join. I'll see you at dinner though?"

Harry shrugged noncommittally. Neville gave him a disappointed look, and left.

Harry turned back to the tissues, jabbing one with his wand. It remained rudely in existence, oblivious of his rising frustration.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry sat in the very back of an empty classroom in the dungeons, waiting. The feast had started a half hour ago, and Harry had spent the time vanishing scraps of paper he had found on the floor. He had also managed to shrink several papers, and thus far he was satisfied.

He had left Gryffindor Tower after most other people did, but he still had to take a detour to the bathroom so that the students still heading to the Great Hall wouldn't realize that he wasn't going to the feast with them.

Harry began setting up the cauldron and lighting a fire beneath it. He had prepared the ingredients ahead of time (that is, the ones that didn't need to be fresh) and he got to work. Twenty minutes later the potion was simmering beautifully and Harry sat down, using the opportunity to rest.

Remembering that it was dinnertime, Harry reached into his bag, retrieving two pieces of toast and a few strips of bacon he had saved from breakfast. It wasn't fancy, especially compared to the feast upstairs, but it was all he could stomach at the moment anyway. In his perpetually tired state, his appetite had faltered somewhat.

Besides, Harry thought, it wasn't like he was used to celebrating Halloween anyway. The Potter Estate was large enough that Harry wasn't used to seeing any sort of decorations, at least not in their home, and neither his father nor he did anything festive that day. For years, Harry hadn't even known that there was a holiday on that date. What he did know, and what he was very strongly aware of, was that it was the day that his mother had been murdered.

Every year, on the anniversary of her death, his father would take him to Godric's Hollow, to the small cemetery there. They would lay flowers on her grave, and stand there in silence for minutes, sometimes hours. Neither Harry nor his father would cry, but the silence hung heavily about them.

Finally, when Harry was sure his fingers would fall off from the cold and his nose was numb as anything, they would turn and leave. They would walk out past the small church, and they would visit the memorial, a life-size statue of his mother, frozen in marble. She looked young and sweet, a content smile on her face.

They would go directly home, returning to the study. His father would sit opposite him, behind the large desk, and he would tell Harry about his mother. It was the one day a year that Harry's father spoke about her without being prompted, and he would tell all sorts of stories, different ones every year. Sometimes they were silly, at other times sweet, at other times scary. As nightfall approached, he would tell one final story, the story of her death.

Harry wondered, now, if his father would visit his mother's grave the next day without him. He imagined his father in the cemetery alone, placing flowers on his wife's grave, without the usual comfort of his only son beside him. It was such a sad thought that Harry decided then not to think about it, and began to eat his toast. His father would be fine, he reassured himself. He was an adult, after all.

Harry was just finishing his toast when heard the low rumble of rushing feet from the floor above him. He stood up hastily, casting a quick tempus.

It was still early. Harry looked up with confusion. The feast shouldn't be over so soon. Harry thought back to the feast they had had upon arriving at Hogwarts. It had gone on for several hours, at least. Even a regular dinner at Hogwarts lasted over an hour.

Frowning, Harry glanced down at his potion. It was simmering softly, but it still needed over an hour as well as several more ingredients. It was going perfectly too, and Harry debated for a moment. Vanishing the potion now would be a huge waste, all his work amounting to nothing. On the other hand, if he was noticed missing – or worse, caught – the consequences would be far more severe. Besides, he had enough potion to last him for now.

Harry braced himself and vanished the potion, sorely regretting that he didn't know how to put a potion in stasis. It wouldn't have solved the problem entirely, but it certainly would have helped. As it was, not only the ingredients but also the time he had invested were lost. Harry shook his head in disappointment, and began clearing away his things.

Harry shrunk his equipment; the cauldron, the knives and scales, and the ingredients he tucked into his pockets. He returned his wand to his sleeve and he was just taking a final look around the room when he heard a noise in the hallway.

Heavy footsteps, and the sound of something dragging on the floor. Harry held his breath, standing back against the wall. It was probably Filch, dragging some cleaning supplies or something. Harry didn't dare cast a disillusionment charm, lest Mrs. Norris be in the hall as well. That cat heard everything.

Suddenly, Harry heard the sound of something heavy smash into the wall outside. It wasn't Filch, that much was clear. The door swung open, and Harry shrank into the corner, fumbling to retrieve his phoenix wand as a horrid figure bent to enter through the door at the other end of the classroom.

It was a troll. Vaguely humanoid, easily twelve feet tall, its thick hide was a greenish-brown. It had a small head perched on burly shoulders, and in one of its long arms it held a large wooden club.

Terror gripped Harry, and he thought fast, trying not to freak out. He cast a quick disillusionment charm, but his voice rose with fright, and the troll turn towards him, smashing his club into a nearby table. Harry swallowed, eyes wide.

Now nearly invisible, Harry took slow steps along the wall as the troll looked stupidly at where he had been several moments before. He held his breath, trying not to make any noise, inching ever so slowly towards the exit.

Without warning, the troll let out a roar and threw a chair at the wall where Harry had been. It made a loud noise as it collided with the wall, the leg of the chair breaking on impact. It was only a few away from Harry, and he flinched. He looked up at the ceiling, hoping that someone heard the commotion, but the rumbling feet had long gone. There was no one there, no one to help him.

It was just him and the troll.

Harry continued taking slow steps towards the door, but the monster was still closer to the exit than he. Harry wanted to make a large circle around the troll, but he was terrified of getting any closer to the it. The troll picked up another chair and smashed the wall. The whole room shook with the force of the blow, and the wooden door, now with a large crack in it, swung shut.

Harry took a shallow breath, trying to calm himself, as he realized that there was no way for him to leave unnoticed. He was on the verge of panicking, desperately trying to clear his mind. Tears welled up in his eyes suddenly, blurring his vision.

Harry led out a terrified sob, unable to stop himself.

The troll slowly turned towards him, and Harry wiped his face in his sleeve, crouching. The troll threw another chair, and its leg hit Harry's arm. Harry cried out in surprise as well as pain from the hit. He bolted, running alongside the wall, the troll lumbered after him in heavy, thundering steps, pushing chairs and tables out of the way as it went.

Harry reached the corner, now only several feet from the door, but the troll was closing in fast. Harry shook like a leaf, and his disillusionment charm failed. He wasn't able to maintain it in such a state, and he was fully visible once again. Harry raised his wand, trying desperately to focus.

"Impedimenta!" Harry yelled, but it hit the troll's thick hide, and the spell made no difference. The troll was almost upon him.

Harry closed his eyes and fired a blasting curse, aiming high, for the head. How terrible, he thought suddenly, if he died on the same day as his mother. He cowered in the corner, unable to move from the weight of the fear that gripped him. He thought of his father standing at not one grave on Halloween, but two, and something rose up inside him.

I'm not dying now, he thought. I can't. I can't leave my father alone.

He cast the spell a second time - Harry felt a hot spray hit him and heard the troll roar. He flinched, but began firing the spell over and over as fast as he could. Even with closed eyes Harry could feel the brightness of the spells he was firing, severely overpowered, the intensity of his fear not allowing for any form of moderation.

Something hit the wall above his head, and Harry trembled, waiting, certain the troll would take his life in seconds. He continued casting the spell, over and over in rapid-fire. He was covered now in the hot liquid, and he didn't dare open his eyes, casting and casting.

There was a loud thud and the whole room shook from the impact. Harry didn't stop casting, terrified, but he heard no more sounds, only the sickening crack of bone and the splatter of blood. Harry shook like a leaf, his wand clenched tightly in his hand. He felt the room spin and he dropped to the floor on his knees, still firing the spell over and over.

Minutes passed. His knees were numb, and his arm ached, outstretched as it was. His mouth was try, his body and his robes covered in blood and bits of flesh, his hair matted over his eyes. He didn't stop casting.

Later. There were hurried footsteps in the hall, and the door opened. Harry didn't stop casting the blasting curse over and over, even as voices rung out. He couldn't understand their words; he couldn't even brush the hair out of his eyes to look at them.

"Expelliarmus."

Harry's wand flew from his hand, and he began to sob. He slumped to the side, tears streamed down his cheeks and his entire body shook. Someone stood next to him now, talking in a gentle voice. Harry's chest heaved as he gulped for air, hyperventilating. A hand brushed the hair out of his eyes and Harry lurched back, trying wildly to get away. Harry saw the pile of torn limbs now, the enormous mass of flesh and splintered bone, the blood that had splattered even the ceiling. Harry bent over, vomiting.

Harry collapsed, falling forward into the mess of vomit and blood, unable to hold himself upright anymore. Everything went black.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry woke up in the hospital wing, lying in one of the white beds. It was a familiar place, though admittedly not somewhere he expected to find himself. It was dark, with only a few lanterns glowing softly. His body ached, and his mouth was dry.

Harry sat up slowly, cautiously, reaching for the pitcher on his bedside table. As he did so, he noticed that he was completely clean, wearing a freshly laundered hospital gown. Not a speck of blood –

Harry nearly choked on his water as he gagged, recalling the events that had befallen him. Chest heaving, he leaned back on his pillows, trying to calm himself as he settled into the sheets. Tears sprung up in his eyes and he put a hand to his chest as anxiety spiked through him. He closed his eyes and immediately opened them, refusing to see what was etched into his eyelids: the pile of flesh.

Harry heard Madam Pomfrey moving in the back room, and rolled onto his stomach, trying to feign sleep. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want to see anyone. He wanted to disappear, he wanted not to exist. He heard the door open and footsteps drew nearer. There was a soft sound as she sat in the chair beside him, and Harry winced as she reached over, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay to be awake, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "There's nothing dangerous in here."

Harry didn't respond.

"You've been in here for two days now," she went on. "Your father visited. He's staying in the castle, I can call him when you're ready."

Harry slowly turned onto his side. "My father is here?" he asked in a shaky voice.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "He said to call him as soon as you wake up, but I thought you might want a little time to yourself first."

Harry let out a shaky breath, torn. He desperately wanted his father next to him, but he was also scared that his father would be mad. He didn't want his father to see him like this.

"What happened?" Harry asked her. He was pale now, and his hands shook terribly, but he wanted to know.

"There was a troll," Madam Pomfrey began slowly. "We don't know how it got into to the castle. Professor Quirrell reported it, and all the students were sent to the dormitories, but you weren't with them. Somehow, you were in the dungeons, where the troll was. All we know is that when the teachers found it, it was already torn to shreds. You were next to it, covered in blood, and in a terrible state of magical fatigue."

Harry shuddered. "Who found me?" he asked in a small voice.

"Professor McGonagal and Professor Snape." Madam Pomfrey replied gently.

Harry nodded, trying to grasp what had happened. He shuddered again, recalling the terror that had overtaken him.

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey began softly. "Can you tell me why you were in the dungeon instead of going to the feast?"

Harry shook his head, paling. His words had deserted him. He felt empty, as though he had been robbed of something, and he had no answer for her. He wasn't sure either. Brewing a potion sounded so insignificant now, so mundane, so far from what had happened.

"Did you know about the troll before you went down there?" she asked.

"No," Harry said in a low voice. "I didn't know about it until it came into the classroom I was in."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "What did you do when it came in?"

Harry swallowed, clenching his fists. He opened his mouth to speak and then stopped, the words stuck in his throat. He cleared his throat, toying with the corner of his hospital gown, staring at a spot on the bedframe. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"I disillusioned myself," he said. "I tried to get past it, to the door, but it heard me. It cornered me, and I – and I –"

Harry broke off, a sob rising in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes and he brushed them away. Not looking at her, Harry went on.

"I closed my eyes," he said heavily. "I sent the strongest blasting curses I could, over and over. I – I couldn't stop, I –" Harry's voice broke, his hands shaking in earnest now.

"I was terrified." He said finally, and fell silent, hands clasped in his lap to hold them still.

Madam Pomfrey waited, but he didn't go on. After a few minutes, she said, "Harry, there will be a few more teachers who will ask you the same questions. Dumbledore and Professors Snape and McGonagal. Your father might want you to give a testimony as well."

Harry nodded glumly.

"How long can I stay here?" Harry asked in a dull voice. He didn't want to go back to Gryffindor Tower. He didn't want to see anyone, and he certainly didn't want to be seen by anyone.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him sadly. "As long as you feel you need to, I suppose. I suggest you only stay another day or two, and take it easy on the spellcasting."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The following morning Harry sat upright in his bed in the hospital wing, hands folded in his lap. He felt calmer, having recovered somewhat from the shock of what had occurred. Despite being clean, Harry felt an overwhelming need to take a shower. He felt... tainted.

His father was supposed to visit in a few minutes. He was looking forward to seeing his father, but he was also nervous. His father could be very strict at times.

There were footsteps in the hallway, and then Harry's father entered the room. He walked quickly to Harry's bed, taking a seat at his side.

"Harry," he said, with a relieved look. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

Harry fidgeted. "Better."

His father gave him a long look. "You gave us quite a scare. I'm happy that you're feeling better. The report from McGonagal and Snape wasn't encouraging."

Harry looked away. He didn't want to see his father's disappointment.

"Harry," his father said softly. "I'm not mad at you."

Harry didn't answer. He clenched and unclenched his fist, wanting to answer but not knowing what to say.

"Madam Pomfrey told me how you fought," his father went on. "I was pleased to hear that you were able to protect yourself, even as I was devastated that you had to fight at all."

Harry still said nothing, but he managed to look up. Even though he had heard his father speak, he was still surprised to see the gentle look on his face. Something inside Harry calmed, a kind of relief washing over him.

His father wasn't mad.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Over the next few days, Harry had to retell what had happened several times. To Dumbledore, who looked at him with piercing blue eyes and a grandfatherly smile; to a man from the ministry, who was very direct and asked painful questions; to a woman with silver hair from the school board, who listened patiently while he talked and asked questions very gently; and finally to his friends in Gryffindor Tower, among whom he was now a celebrity.

The whole ordeal made returning to everyday things like homework and Quidditch very difficult. He could no longer eat, or even look at, any form of meat. Even red juices were hard for him to drink. He was also jumpy in general – loud sounds scared him, and he found himself looking over his shoulder as he walked between classes. Additionally, Harry found that he started to panic if he was alone for any amount of time, especially within the castle, but even outside. He stopped his morning training by the Forbidden Forest, and he didn't go back to the dungeons at all.

The one time he tried to go to Potions, he had begun to panic as soon as they stepped foot in the dungeons. The walls were too similar to the classroom he had fought the troll in, and even with a group of friends around him his mouth went dry and his whole body shook. He had made it one corridor before Hermione insisted that she go with him to the hospital wing.

Harry hadn't protested.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0

It was after a week that he finally met up with Draco again.

"Harry!" Draco exclaimed when they met. He looked Harry over, and without missing a beat asked, "How did you do it?"

"Draco," Harry nodded in acknowledgement. "You didn't happen to read the papers, did you?"

Draco nodded. "They said that you killed it with a blasting curse to the head and then blasted it to pieces until the teachers came."

"There you have it," Harry said, not meeting Draco's eyes. "Are we going to train today? You'll have to go easy on me though, I'm just a bit out of shape."

"Come on!" Draco whined. "There's got to be something you didn't tell the papers."

Harry took a breath. "Well… I did use a blasting curse, but I may have overpowered it. I also um… I shot them really fast."

"Like you did the first time we dueled?" Draco asked excitedly.

Harry nodded.

"Insane," Draco said, eyeing Harry with admiration. "Okay, what should we do today?"

"I had an idea, actually." Harry began, speaking timidly. "I think we should try to see what it would be like if we dueled together against a dummy or something – I've been thinking about how different it might have been if I had someone with me."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Neville hadn't asked Harry about it at all. It was only after he had spoken to Draco that Harry realized how odd it was that Neville was being so distant. One afternoon after class, he pulled Neville aside.

"Neville," he said slowly, putting a hand on the other boy's elbow. "Walk with me?"

The other boy nodded, shouldering his bag and falling into step next to Harry. They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then Harry cleared his throat.

"Um, I uh... We haven't spoken in a while," Harry said awkwardly. "Are you mad at me?"

Neville looked surprised. "No," he said immediately. "You just looked so busy all the time; I didn't want to bother you. It seemed pretty important to you and I uh, I thought I'd leave you to it."

Harry nodded, trying to think. "Yeah, I was busy, but... You're important to me too," he said, feeling lame. "I still want to be friends with you."

Neville gave Harry a hard look, and stopped walking. Harry did as well.

"Do you really?" Neville asked. "Look, I didn't want to say anything because you have so much on your hands, and now with the troll especially. I don't understand you though – what does it mean to be friends if you never spend time with us in the common room? You barely even talk at meals, because you're so caught up in your projects." Neville's face was pink now, and he looked frustrated. "I don't want to burden you, Harry – there's no need to pretend to be friends if that's not what you want!"

Harry looked at Neville in surprise, taken aback. "I'm sorry," he said again, not knowing what to say. He was confused. If Neville really meant what he said – and he did not look like he was joking – then he was a terrible friend. They stood facing each other, silently, each searching for what to say next.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again with a sigh. "I'm just, I'm used to only seeing you once in a while – I thought it was normal that we don't talk every day or whatever. I didn't realize..."

Harry trailed off, realizing how pathetic he sounded. "Forget it," he tried. "All I can ask for is another chance."

Neville nodded. "Okay."

They stood there for a moment, awkwardly.

"Walk with me?" Harry asked.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry knocked lightly on the door of McGonagal's office, anxiety blooming in his chest.

"Come in!" came the voice from inside. The door swung open, and Harry entered her office, taking slow, uncertain steps. He had been in her office before, but never had he felt so small.

Standing by the desk was not only Professor McGonagal, but Professor Snape as well. Neither of them looked particularly angry, which was good, but Snape was a Legillimens. Who knew what the man was feeling.

"Potter," McGonagal said, not unkindly. "Good. I trust you know why you are here?"

Harry looked down at his feet. "I think so." He spoke in a small voice.

"The matter is as follows," said Snape. "Potter, you haven't been coming to my class. Can you tell us why?" He spoke in a low voice, a tone softer than any Harry had ever heard him use. It was almost as though he knew what Harry was going to say but wanted to hear the words from him directly.

Harry swallowed. "I tried coming to your class," Harry began slowly. "I uh, I'm really sorry." He stopped, taking a deep breath. "I just can't go into the dungeons."

The professors waited. Harry closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. He couldn't help it, he felt desperate: if they didn't hear him out, he could get into serious trouble.

"I can't go into the dungeons," he said. "I can't go without panicking. That's where the troll cornered me."

The professors nodded.

"We saw," McGonagal said quietly. "We understand."

"Potter," said Snape. "I would have appreciated it if you would have come to me or to Professor McGonagal about this matter before now, but in any case, the issue that we have presently is this: you cannot stop taking potions lessons for the rest of your years at Hogwarts."

Harry looked away, taking a shallow breath.

"We need to find a way for you to return to class," McGonagal said. She looked at him expectantly, as though he had some kind of suggestion to offer.

"Perhaps Madam Pomfrey would be so kind as to provide you with a calming draught," Snape offered. "Not forever of course, but perhaps once you've been to several classes it would be easier for you to return to class regularly."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think you understand how intensely I felt down there. A calming draught would only be sufficient if it was a very strong one, and such a potent potion would make me too slow and too out of it to gain anything from class," Harry paused. "Is there any way to move the class to a different floor of the castle? I have nothing against the class itself, I promise."

Professor McGonagal chuckled softly at that.

"I don't think so," Snape said. He didn't look quite as amused as McGonagal did.

Harry sighed. "The only other option I can think of is for you to tutor me privately."